


Prison Break

by fractalserpentine, HopeofDawn



Series: A Stitch In Time [5]
Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman, Legacy of Kain
Genre: Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-05
Updated: 2011-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalserpentine/pseuds/fractalserpentine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeofDawn/pseuds/HopeofDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Outraged at their lord's betrayal, a few elder Razielim led their armies in open rebellion against Kain, seeking vengeance--only to disappear without a trace.  Now Raziel has returned;  and whispered rumors speak of surviving Razielim imprisoned deep within the Sanctuary of the Clans.  Raziel and a fledgling Kain must risk everything, if they are to find out the truth ....</p><p><i>"Tell me, my firstborn ... do you recognize it? This blood, their screams ... all given to me for *your* sake?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Prison Break

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of background explanation: this was originally written for a long-running crossover RPG called Multiverse Haven (now sadly defunct). The basic premise of the game was that characters had been pulled from multiple worlds and marked as Chosen, in order to eventually restore a dying multiverse. The main storyline takes place in Nosgoth, however there may be occasional references to characters, magic systems and some borrowed vampire terminology from other canon sources. Co-authorship credit also goes to the inestimable Yzaksama. :)
> 
> Warning: this story is set during the time of Kain's empire, so there will be a few small scenes of fairly brutal treatment of humans as slaves/livestock. Such is life in a world where vampires rule ...

Their flight had been swift, sweeping over mountain passes, forest and lake alike with supernatural speed. Raziel urged them on mercilessly, consumed with the a certain foreboding, a sense that time was running short and events starting to move, one cascading into another like an avalanche until all they could do was run before it. In the air, at least, they could not be stopped by Clan patrols, which made them the logical choices for this most audacious assault, right at the heart of the Empire. Only he and his brethren knew all the secret ways of the Sanctuary of the Clans--and while there was no assurance that those Razielim imprisoned by Kain yet lived, Raziel knew he would be forever consumed with regret if he did not try--did not *know* for sure.

There was an old ruin, long-abandoned and overgrown, near the western wall. Raziel headed for it, gliding silently in the darkness, low enough to clip the tops of the trees. Backwinging, he touched down in the shadows of a broken and mossy wall, and waited for the others to settle, scanning their surroundings.

"We must be swift and silent," he said in hushed tones, once Kain and Tarrant had reformed into their habitual shapes. "Unlike the Citadel, the Sanctuary is well guarded by members of all the Clans. If the alarm is raised, we will be quickly overrun."

Kain had followed closely upon Raziel's aura, that being his only sure way to prevent the flock of his bats from scattering astray. There was nothing in the vicinity he recognized, nothing from which the bats might take a familiar sounding, or orient upon for direction. The forest was thick and deep with a malevolent sort of gloom, even under the clear sky. Glimpses of the Sanctuary itself could be seen through the vegetation; the walls were massive, perhaps hundreds of feet thick and nearly that tall, built of smooth granite stone so that it seemed a mountain crouched there, not a structure built by man or vampire.

Kain caught up an escaped bat, which had tangled itself in the wooden girders of the half-crumbled wall, and absorbed it. The ruins seemed part of some workcamp or perhaps a long-disused trading center -- small regular constructions for sheltering groups of guards when not on duty, or human slave laborers, perhaps. Kain nodded, pushing himself up to crouch upon a low wall. "The gates are very exposed," he noted, quietly. They opened onto an empty plain, though from this distance, he could not make out any guards. Perhaps they might fly in?

"I will keep watch," Tarrant only whispered.

Raziel gave him a quick glance, then nodded in acknowledgment of Tarrant's words, assuming correctly that the Neocount would be watching for more than mere mundane dangers. "No--there is no way to approach the gates unseen, short of invisibility," he said dryly. "There is another way--known only to myself and the other clan lords." He led the way deeper into the ruins, picking through them as he searched. "When the Sanctuary was being built, I ordered secret tunnels built into its walls, to forestall the Clans from being trapped within by an enemy too great to overcome--or from which to send warriors, and sally forth in a surprise attack upon that same enemy." They had been used only twice in the fifteen hundred years the Sanctuary had stood--and this particular tunnel, never.

Reaching a low rise, Raziel scrubbed away some moss from the weathered stone with the side of his hand, revealing a begrimed sigil, and grunted in satisfaction.

"A wise consideration," Kain said, sliding from his perch with a sprinkling of small, loose stones. "But how does one ensure the enemy does not locate the tunnel, first?" Escape passages were of very great use... potentially both to invaders and defenders.

He watched as Raziel revealed the answer. "Ahh," Kain breathed, impressed. The stone seemed for all the world like an immovable chunk of the hillside, a low hummock fifty paces wide. Upon the place Raziel had scrubbed clean was inscribed a palm-sized, complex symbol. But it could have been a stray marking by a stoneworker, or even a location marker, for all Kain could determine. There was no evidence of magic upon it... though perhaps, if Kain looked closely, the underlying streams of magic that crossed and corded the land seemed just a little... warped around the hummock, though not to any effect Kain comprehended at present. "How does it open?" Kain asked, baldly.

"...Of course," Tarrant murmurs quietly, "If I were expecting an invasion from a renegade clanlord, I'd expect precisely this sort of entrance."

"The answer is the same to both your questions," Raziel remarked still intent upon the sigil. He slid talons over the rough stone, feeling over it. There was a *snikt*, and the symbol changed, portions sinking inward under the pressure of Raziel's three-fingered hand. "We designed it such that only an elder could unlock the door--" He sank all three-talons into the now-visible holes, and twisted his hand slightly. In answer the stone shivered as the mechanism inside released. Digging in his feet, Raziel hauled with brute strength, pulling the massive stone up and outward with a visible effort. "--and that only a vampire's strength could open it."

If the humans had found the right place, of course, they probably could have forced their way in with time and the application of enough brute force. But this was far from the only safeguard.

The darkness beyond was Stygian, like a gaping maw, curving steeply down. It took Kain a moment to realize that he could not see far at all into the tunnel, not even with the assistance of the ambient moonlight. The blackness was simply unnatural, and as he looked into it, shapes seemed to flit, black-on-black. "Did you likewise set the magical wards?" Kain asked, a bit awed.

"This place is full of dark fae," Tarrant stated quietly. He drew his sword. The coldfire did not cast light, but the shadows seemed to deepen, creating contrast where little existed before.

Raziel frowned as he felt the old magics seep outward, ruffling the hairs on his neck. "This is none of my doing ... I installed no wards." Why ward against their own kind? To have one of the Lieutenants rebel against Kain--it was unthinkable.

But someone had obviously thought of it, and taken steps. Raziel would wager a great deal he knew who that creature was. Damn his sire's omniscience!

Kain stepped forward... and dipped in a hand. "Would this prove dangerous to humans?" he asked, entirely missing the significance of the wards, a little confounded. The black seemed to cling to his skin for a split second as it was withdrawn, like an optical illusion.

Well, if Tarrant had drawn his blade, then this... this whatever-it-was could be defended against with swords. Kain drew the Reaver, and as a precaution, activated the spell to make it, and himself, unremarkable. In the tunnel's blackness, Kain would be hard-pressed to notice a sentry before he stumbled upon the guard. "Shall we proceed?" Kain asked, preparing to take point.

The Reaver cracked softly to itself, small traceries of lightning coursing its length.

"This is a trap," Tarrant states softly, "Laid in the manner in which I would have done so. Watch your hearts, gentlemen. This darkness seeks only to please your worst nightmares."

Essence very much like his own seethed here, essence which the Elder God had attuned him to even more.

"And don't be afraid," he whispered, barely audible, "Or I won't be able to hold back."

It was a trap--yet they seemed to have no choice but to enter it. And even if an elder Kain himself lay on the other side of it, Raziel would not allow himself to falter.

Setting his jaw, he did not summon the wraithblade. He did not trust it, not so close the physical Reaver. Barehanded, head high, he stepped into the darkness.

The light disappeared behind them within a few steps, and Raziel found himself forced to rely upon scent and hearing instead of sight. There was no sound, only a waiting silence, and he found himself straining his ears, waiting for the scrape of stone or a hiss of steel that preceded an attack.

As Kain moved deeper, the blackness fogged around him, drawing a sheet betwixt him and the other two men. He reached out to the wall, to steady himself with his free hand... and jerked it back, shaking it off.

The walls crawled with beetles. Their shiny black carapaces formed a living carpet, a drapery upon the barely-glimpsed rough-hewn stone beneath. Their boring, grinding mouthparts worked silently as they swarmed -- carrion beetles were as willing to tear apart dead flesh as living, and there were so damned many of them.... Kain's boots crunched through the living carpet with each step as he continued, his knee-tall boots protection enough, for the moment.

Oddly, they left Tarrant completely unmolested.

The sudden infestation of beetles left Raziel unmoved; his skin was far too armored to be susceptible to their nibbling jaws. He did not even care about the slimy crunching that occurred when inevitably they were trod underfoot--he had crawled through worse, having clawed his way out of grave after grave.

But there was something else. A scent ... both unpleasant and familiar. The scent of old blood and viscera, the reek of entrails, all commingled until one could only smell the stench of the slaughterhouse, and not the identity of the creature that it heralded. Raziel slowed, a certain ... apprehension making him wary.

The tide of chewing insects grew suddenly deeper. "'Ware, the both of you," Kain said softly, turning to glance back of Raziel and Tarrant's progress, for it had seemed to him that Tarrant's own boots were soft, rather thin, and he knew that Raziel did not wear full boots...

The passage was empty, for as far as Kain could see.

The hollow clatter of millions of chitinous legs echoed. The breath caught in Kain's throat. _No._

Sudden, searing, boring pain in his calf and thigh made him bend down, scraping the climbing beetles from his breeches, crushing the ones that had burrowed their way under the cuff of his boot. Kain snarled, stomping a few steps away. "Raziel?" he tried again -- how had they fallen behind? But... where was behind? The black-crawling passage was just the same in either direction. "Raziel!" Kain called, abandoning secrecy. There, in that direction -- were those two low lumps under the crawling mass, like fallen bodies? Kain could not tell. He broke into a run.

Tarrant followed behind them. He did not interfere overtly with their visions, their demons. Neither did they interfere with him, recognizing him -- inasmuch as such things could -- as one of their own, a kindred force.

Relishing their unease, their distress, he subtly nudged the fae here and there to drive them on forward, offering little more assistance than this.

He couldn't help it. The pleasure that he gained from their torment was exquisite.

"Raziel?"

"Kain, what are you--" Raziel hissed urgently, trying to grab the younger vampire as he broke into a run. His talons sliced through only air in the darkness, however, and he cursed under his breath. "Damn it!"

A chuckle floated out from the passage ahead. "So impatient, my Raziel. And after I had come all this way to greet you personally ..." There was the deliberate scrape of cloven feet against stone. The stench of the slaughterhouse was overpowering, filling nose and throat ... and it was a very different Kain indeed who stepped around a corner to greet him. Taller, a mane of snow-white hair gleamed in the darkness, cascading back from a heavy-planed, horned brow. Marbled, armored green-grey skin was set off by the dull crimson of a clan drape, and equally red-tinted talons rested casually upon one stone wall.

This was his sire, Raziel's elder, the most powerful vampire in Nosgoth.

He had recently waded through gore.

Kain's heavy, bronzed boots were running with it, were dripping with splashes of red and purple and near-black. More glistening streaks patterned his armored hide. And while Kain possessed red-dyed gloves to cover his talons, t'was not leather that colored them ruddy, not this night. Kain lifted a hand and lapped a trickle from his wrist.

Not all the blood Raziel could smell was old. But all of it was dead.

Somewhere ahead, Kain clawed at the thick knots of crawling things upon the floor, unwilling to use the Reaver to cut through. But there was nothing there, just as there had been nothing beneath the pile before, nor the one before that....

Raziel had slipped into a fighting stance without thinking at the sound of Kain's voice--and there he stayed, stock still, talons at the ready.

"... Kain," he ground out, the smell of blood too fresh, bringing back memories he did not want. "You seem to have degenerated somewhat in cleanliness, if not appearance."

Kain chuckled. With a last lick of his wrist, he said archly, "Oh, a minor indulgence. Tell me, my firstborn ... do you recognize it? This blood, their screams ... all given to me for *your* sake?"

Tarrant reached down to haul Kain back up, and throw him forward. To Raziel, he hissed, _"Move."_

"What? Tarrant!" Kain stumbled with the force of the Neocount's shove. It was as if the man had simply appeared from the fog as Kain wandered, leaving bloody footprints behind as the boring carrion beetles swarmed him time and again. But the insects were gone, though he could still see them scuttle at the corners of his vision. Kain reached out to grasp Tarrant's arm, but his gaze skipped over the place the other vampire crouched, just before him. "Where is Raziel?"

"Verily, mine own," that relentless voice all but drowned out the distant sound of Tarrant's hissed command. "Every one has consecrated the altar of your sacrifice -- my divinations have been wrought in a cataract of blood. But in truth, I ought acknowledge your efforts..." Kain pushed away from the wall, and in his hand was wadded a length of fine red fabric. As he spoke, Kain casually wiped clean his massive talons. He tossed the cloak to Raziel's feet. "...in so painstakingly gathering the stragglers for me."

The fabric was bloodied and twisted, torn in places, but even still the two jagged white markings upon it could be made out. Raziel's clan sigil... and only one creature, other than Raziel himself, wore a pair of the symbols, rather than the singular.

Anani.

"You lie," Raziel retorted, oblivious to Tarrant's urgings. But it was with a building sense of dread and fear that he knelt down and picked up the cloak. Tattered, torn, bloodied--but it still held his firstborn's scent ... and the peculiar ashy scent of an elder's death.

"No ..." Grief swamped him with shocking suddenness. To come so close, to hope, only to have that frail illusion ripped from him once more ... For if Anani was dead, then so were the others, all at Kain's hand, and there was no point to any of this any more ... "...no ..."

His head came up, his grief changing in an instant to the purest fury. With a wordless cry of rage, Raziel lunged forward, the wraithblade suddenly there, lighting up the corridor in a blaze of blue-white light as it swung viciously at Kain's bloodsmeared form. Too incensed to remember his fear or his loyalty, Raziel only wanted one thing--to kill his tormentor.

"He's--" Tarrant began.

And then Raziel roared.

Soul Eater struck Soul Reaver as Tarrant brought his sword up just in time to deflect the blow from cleaving Kain and he in twain.

This was no longer quite so amusing!

The meeting of the two blade was marked not by sparks, but by an expanding halo of power, a concussion to the air and upon the senses. Blue warred with blue, writhing, struggling... and then the radiating halo collapsed, sucked into the raging maelstrom around the singular point where the two weapons crossed. The darkmagic that filled the tunnel was drawn in, as well.

The hunger of Tarrant's blade plucked at the moorings of the spectral Reaver, wrenching at the roots of it, where it entwined tight around Raziel's soul. The oblivion-void of the Reaver split open the stores of energy harassed by Tarrant's blade, drawing forth a river of power, drinking it down with bottomless appetite.

The weapons aimed to devour one another.

"You _dare_ bear arms against me, boy?" Kain's eyes narrowed. The Reaver had appeared in his hand, and held back its spectral twin's cutting edge. He held not the Soul Reaver... but the Blood Reaver, empty, mindlessly hungry, plucking at the symbiotic weapon that enwrapped Raziel's right arm... and his soul. With speed that defied all reason, he lashed out, the talons of his free hand wrapping brutally around Raziel's throat.

But something was different. Kain was... thinner, the margins of the vision wavering as the darkmagic all around was consumed by the conflagration of the blades.

Had Raziel been more rational, less goaded by the tauntings of the dark fae, he likely would have perceived the warping of the dark illusion that he had attacked. But he was blinded by a kind of mad fury, all the buried resentments, all the fears along with every ounce of killing instinct combining into an insensate fury very much like the one that had goaded him into ripping the heart from his sire's breast once before ....

Such madness held no room for restraint or rationality.

Raziel's only response to Kain's taunt was another snarl, and another blow, ripping the wraithblade free from the Blood Reaver and bringing it down again, forcing Kain to release his grip or lose his hand.

Breathing harshly, Tarrant pulled the rest of the darkmagic into his blade to replace what was lost, cutting the entire excercise in fear short.

The room began to clear, the false Kain's countenance to waver, superimposed thinly over the crouched forms of the Neocount and the true Kain.

Once again, their blades clashed, Tarrant's much more slender arm straining against the incredible brute force of Raziel's, but -- for the moment -- holding, as he kept himself and his sword between the two disoriented vampires.

 _"Raziel! Hold!"_

A number of things happened, nearly at the same time.

Kain's talons sank through Raziel's armored skin as he wrenched his fist back in a spatter of purple-black blood, talons clenched around a dripping handful of Raziel's throat... just a shade too slow to avoid the edge of the spectral Reaver.

Kain's hand tightened on Tarrant's shoulder. He could not see what the man fought, could sense little through the fading veil of darkmagic, but if Raziel was endangered.... Setting his feet, Kain dragged Tarrant away, spinning the slender man to the ground and away from the unseen danger, and lunged into the darkness, reaching out with his free hand.

Raziel's spectral blade keened with hunger as it carved through gauntlet and pale skin, flaying open the tendons on the back of Kain's left hand, laying his arm open to the bone. The pain of the wound, however, was a trifle compared to the terrible, wrenching draw, a force that gripped his soul and sought to wrench it from its moorings. Kain screamed, the short shocked cry of a wounded fledgling, the sound wrung from him unwilling.

Pain and terror and rage lent a last pulse of energy to the surrounding miasma of purified darkness. Even as the darkness spiraled away, drawn to Tarrant's coldfire blade, three-taloned hands reached from it... and closed upon the spars of Raziel's wings.

His throat torn open, blood flowing darkly over his chest, Raziel staggered. For a heartbeat he paused, uncomprehending as the younger Kain's visage appeared before him, and he heard a fledgling's cry of pain, not an elder's roar of agony--

\--and then there was a terrible wrenching agony as talons closed around his wings, and tore. Flesh shredded, and Raziel shrieked in mad fury and pain.

Not again! Never again!

He did not know how Kain had gotten behind him, nor did he care. He spun, wrenching his wings from that brutal grip, tearing them even further, and sliced the Reaver down, intending to slice his attacker in twain. The wraithblade, keening and spitting sparks, sliced into pale flesh--

\--and went through it, the illusion disappearing like mist as the last of the dark fae was drawn into the ravenous soul-eating blade.

Raziel stumbled forward, staring uncomprehending at the dank tunnel before him, empty of any enemies. Deprived of any target, his rage faded, changed into a blank kind of confusion ... and he fell.

Tarrant reeled to his feet, scanning both of them for damage too severe for either of the vampires to speedily heal.

"I told you not to be afraid!"

"Raziel!" Kain stumbled forward as the elder appeared before Kain, as if emerging from out of the turbulent black mist. Raziel lay upon his side, bleeding still, the silky membrane of his wings a gory tatter, bone gleaming in places. The Reaver clattered to the stone floor as Kain collapsed to his knees, lightheaded, nauseous with that terrible -- but brief -- assault upon his very being. _Raziel!_ Kain sent, gripping at that fragile thread of consanguinity between them, reaching to try to gather Raziel upright, to try to determine the extent of his wounds -- something, anything. Kain's left arm functioned almost not at all, shedding blood profusely over the both of them, the wound carved by the Reaver reluctant to heal.

Blood dripped down his face as Raziel blinked hazily up at his fledgling sire. For a moment, leftover rage sparked--then faded as Kain's too-young features became plainly visible. He tried to speak, only to choke as fresh blood bubbled forth from the gaping wound in his neck, his windpipe messily severed by those illusory claws. His flesh was healing, but slowly--the wounds to both neck and wings were far too great for even Raziel's power to regenerate instantly.

 _... what?_ he Whispered to them both. _What was ... that was not real?_

Tarrant began to send his own Coldfire into their bodies. The undead tolerated his own method of repair much better than did the living.

"Only," Tarrant whispered, "Because our weapons weakened the fae. Were this my world -- or had you been alone -- you would undoubtedly have perished here."

"I... do not know," Kain managed, in response to Raziel's questioning. But he could not see any other enemies present. The corridor was empty, the thick blackness now vanished. "What? Fae?" Tarrant had said that it -- the darkness -- sought to please their nightmares, but.... had the magic of this place tried to turn them, one upon the other? Had he somehow... Raziel's blood filled his senses and oozed thickly down his hands, but in his addled state, Kain knew not if it had been there earlier.

Kain shuddered as the cold seeped into his bones, chilling his flesh, gelling his blood. But the rending pain in his arm began to dissipate, replaced by the crawling sensation as tendons slowly wormed their way down his flesh. As careful as he could be one-handed, Kain tried to ease Raziel to his stomach. "The edges of your membrane... I would align so the edges seal.... your wings, can you spread them?" If there were broken bones, there would be no choice but to set them now....

Raziel glanced muzzily between the both of them, anger sparking and then dying for lack of fuel, even in the face of Tarrant's disdain. He stiffened as the cold energies washed through his body--but they did not hurt, oddly enough. Instead they seemed to sink inward, to fill the gnawing hole inside ... and in response, his eyes began to bleed white, the first sparks of the unsummoned wraithblade curling around his arm.

 _His wings ..._ He was afraid to even look at them. Silently, he positioned himself as Kain urged, spreading out ragged pinions. They still trembled finely from pain and leftover battle-rage, purple-black blood dripping from the torn flesh to the tunnel floor.

Kain could not miss the abrupt crackle of purple-black lightning around Raziel's right arm, the power that balled in his fist. "Shh, easy Raziel," Kain murmured, smoothing his good hand between those trembling wings. "You're doing well -- so good. Lay still for me," his voice had taken on a hypnotic tone, deep with assurance he did not feel. Splayed out across the ground, the damage was even more apparent.

Ignoring the blistering cold that coiled in his left arm, Kain carefully set to realigning the twisted tatters of Raziel's wings, pressing the edges together so that they sealed without scars. His wound now dribbled blood across Raziel's back and wings, but at least it was no longer pouring, and soon the flow slowed to a trickle and then ceased as Kain concentrated on setting each ragged strip where it ought to go.

It took several long minutes, before Kain was satisfied that the membrane would not heal in a uselessly crumpled mass. He closed his eyes, exhausted and weak with hunger, shivering as his still-somewhat human body struggled with the influx of icy energy. "Thank you, Tarrant," he whispered.

The healing was not without pain--Raziel dug his talons into the stone beneath him, his teeth clenched against weakling cries of pain as Kain and Tarrant's hands moved on the flesh of his wings. The blood had slowed from the wound at his throat, but it had not healed completely--only the occasional choking gasp escaped. Tarrant's touch was like icy fire, like the touch of the Abyss--except instead of stripping away flesh, it fused it together. And as the energies sank into him, Raziel could not help but make them his own, feeling the chilly darkness settle into his own flesh. The last time he had felt like this, he had been in the heart of the Dark Forge ....

Tarrant watched Raziel's torment with a dispassionate countenance... though he shivered very gently, almost lustfully, at those soft, aborted cries of pain, that submission, those gasps, that writhing...

It was like a certain Elder God's hunger, in a way, palpable, devouring...

But it did not. Tarrant kept it tightly leashed and simply partook of the satisfying morsels which Raziel offered up unto him.

And when it was done, he, feeling rather generously magnanimous, pressed his wrist to Kain's mouth.

Kain's eyes slit open. It took him a moment to respond; the tendons in his left arm twitched visibly, painfully, beneath the slowly-spreading muscle and skin. But his right hand functioned perfectly well -- he struck swiftly, thoughtlessly, seizing Tarrant's slender forearm and dragging the wrist to a better position, his long eyeteeth slipping deep between the sinews and into the arteries.

A single mouthful shocked him to his senses, hoarfrost forming on the skin around his mouth. Kain choked, aspirating a little of the liquid coldfire, burning his lungs with the empty chill. He managed a few swallows, far more cautiously, and then withdrew his fangs, the bones of his skull and the flesh of his tongue and throat gelid with the cold. Stiffly, he pressed two fingers over the wounds he'd left, too dazed to tell if the punctures had already healed.

Slowly, stiffly, Raziel pushed himself upward, folding his wings together with jerky, hitched movements. The torn flesh was sealed, but far from truly healed; he could feel agony spark at each pull and shift of wounded flesh. Lifting his head, he straightened, trying to recover his dignity and at the same time understand just what had happened.

 _I cannot feel the dark magic I did earlier,_ he Whispered, after Kain had released his bite on Tarrant's wrist. _Does that mean that the trap has been sprung? Or will there be others still waiting?_

"This was a trap made of dark fae," Tarrant stated quietly.

The wounds had already healed.

"You responded appropriately. There will undoubtedly be more traps... I would certainly have installed many redundant security measures, anyway."

Kain gradually, almost reluctantly, released his hold on Tarrant's wrist. "My appreciation," he said, speaking slowly, deliberately, to avoid slurring his words. He eyed Raziel carefully -- subdermal armor, and in some places, skin, had spread over the elder's throat, but it was difficult to be sure that healing was progressing sufficiently. All three vampires were liberally coated in blood, Raziel most of all.

The Reaver was not. Its blade was clean, and the ground was dry some inches around it, though it lay at the center of a spattered puddle of blood, both Kain's and Raizel's. The skull upon the crossguard was aglow, alive with crackling blue. Kain reached hesitantly for the hilt, feeling his skin prickle as the weapon absorbed the liquid from his hand. But it did him no harm, and Kain levered himself to his feet, the tip of the blade planted in the stones to keep his balance. "What is the nature of this 'fae'? And are you well enough to continue?" Kain asked, the last question directed to both the other men.

Even if Raziel were not, he would hardly admit it. He pushed himself to his feet, setting his feet and refusing to stagger as the world tilted for a moment--not from his injuries, or blood loss, but from the sheer amount of dark energy Tarrant had pushed into his system. His vision was oddly blurred, the edges faintly blue-tinged and warped, as if he were seeing the Underworld as well as the living world. But he held his silence, waiting for Tarrant to speak.

He wanted to know that answer as well ...

"Have I not explained this before?" Tarrant did not sound arrogant, however-- he was trying to remember. "The essence of your world, its energy, the forces that move through it, shape it, define it. The Ancients worked with these energies... as do you both, evidently, in some fashion. The nature of _this_ fae was very similar to that which I favor... and to this world's flavor of it to which your Elder God has, for the duration of my stay, attuned me. It becomes what you fear, gentlemen. It is the living and unliving essence of deepest night, that cold and hungry void to which most of the souls of this world go when they die."

Kain nodded slowly. He was emperor, in this time, and that meant that he had set -- or ordered to be set -- a trap for... himself? Ah, no, most likely for Raziel. Kain would need to be on his guard, then, for it seemed his elder form would be very much a danger to him. "Can you determine, Tarrant, if an alarm has been tripped? An alert sent?" Gingerly, Kain swung the Reaver to his back, and unbuckled the remains of his gauntlet, dropping the ruined armor to the ground. He summoned a length of fabric and wrapped his left arm, -- complete immobilization would have improved the rate of healing, but he could not afford to leave the injured limb entirely unserviceable.

Raziel's wings... were in far worse condition, the jagged lines of injury still visible. _Can your wounds be bound at all?_ Kain sent.

 _No._ A pause. _I will heal._ Given time, and blood--any human servants they had the fortune to encounter were not likely to live long, that was for certain.

Raziel transferred his attention to Tarrant. _If this magic is fuelled by that void--then it cannot kill me. That is something, at least._ He pushed himself away from the wall, and started forward again. _We are wasting precious time. Let us proceed._

But Tarrant stepped in front of him. "A moment," he said to Kain, "And I will check."

As he had for Kain, he held out his wrist to Raziel. "Drink. Heal. We've no time to wait for warmer victims."

Raziel stopped short. Glanced over at Kain--then looked back at Tarrant warily. He had felt the neocount's power enough to know that it was not precisely ... friendly, if not strictly inimical. But much as he hated to admit it, Tarrant was right. They could not afford to be weakened.

 _Very well._ Bending his head, he brought Tarrant's wrist to his lips and bit down, fangs slicing into the pale skin. Blood welled up, surged over his tongue--

\--and he froze as the coldfire energies surged through him. Frost coated the inside of his mouth, hit throat and stomach; the power in Tarrant's blood filled every fiber of him, cascading through like glacial snowmelt, like fire. He shook, holding on convulsively as he took that power, absorbed it, his wraith-nature rousing under the influence until his eyes were once again pure white, his skin limned in blue, the wraithblade curling in dark tendrils around his sword-arm as if it had been quenched in a font of darkness.

Kain paced forward, though not to interrupt, not this time. But rather, simply to be close if something should go wrong... not that there was a great deal he could do. Kain's eyes widened as he watched the violent rise of energy, the pulse of magic that seemed to illuminate Raziel from within, seemed to highlight in blue the delicate architecture of skeletal bone and thick muscle.

The wraithblade unwound like a serpent, coiling tendrils that formed an unparalleled weapon. The spectral Reaver crackled, like the creak of ice deep in a glacier underfoot, hungry, devouring.... sensing its twin, the blade on Kain's own back roused, disturbed, shedding lightning-hot sparks. Kain took a judicious step back.

Tarrant watched with exceeding interest. He did not take his wrist away; he was strong, had fed well.

Raziel drank deep, swallowing convulsively, his skin prickling numbly. He could feel himself healing, the blood working to restore his flesh.

Finally he could take no more--he released the bite with a gasp, turning his head away to cough up leftover blood from his newly-healed throat. "No--no more," he gasped hoarsely. "...my thanks." It took an actual effort of will to dismiss the wraithblade, after devouring so much soul-energy; the blade crackled, charged and looking for an outlet.

Kain watched both men, waiting until Raziel could wipe the frost from his lips, until Tarrant had stemmed the bleeding. It took a little longer for the twin punctures to close, this time, but the man seemed steady enough on his feet. Kain nodded briefly. "Let us proceed, then. Tarrant, warn if you sense an alarm, or any other hostile magics."

Turning, Kain moved some few steps apart from the other men before unhooking the Reaver from his back. Its crackling glow lighted the way.

As Tarrant had suggested, there were other traps scattered through the long passage -- physical ones, and more deadly to mortal creatures than to vampires. Kain was familiar with some of them -- the rows of spikes that thrust up from the floor or down from the ceiling. Their presence was marked by a scattering of bones -- remains of creatures so mindless they had passed through the dark fae unharmed -- and thus were easy enough to spot.

"No alarms," Tarrant whispered some time later. "No magical traps. It makes no sense, something else must be waiting..."

He kept his sword drawn. He did not like any of this at all.

"Oh, there are traps. They are still ahead," Raziel said grimly. Once they had proceeded to a certain point in the tunnel, they could see a dim light ahead. Raziel placed a hand on Kain's shoulder, keeping him from going forward. "A moment."

Moving forward, Raziel stepped very carefully around certain portions of the tunnel floor. No animals had made it this far to betray the presence of any traps, and there was only a fine scattering of dust upon the floor. Oddly charred dust, that floated in the air as Raziel moved through it ... Crouching low, the elder vampire reached forward, into a low crevice, and *pushed*. There was a shiver, and a low grinding noise. Raziel stood, and motioned them forward urgently.

"We must go through--quickly, before the trap resets. We have only moments." He suited action to words, running forward, towards the light. _Kain--there is a gate guarding the Sanctuary entrance. When we reach it, mist through and release the lever on the inside, swiftly!  
_  
Kain picked his way after Raziel, and when the elder broke into a run, so too did he, darting as well as he could alongside. As swift as the elder was in the air, it seemed beyond reason that he should be so fleet of foot as well! _Understood,_ he replied, bounding over what seemed a dust-streaked mirror... or perhaps a melted chunk of armor. Then a realization struck him. _You have no mistform?_ he demanded, shocked. Raziel had entered the region of whatever trap this was... without a means of...!

The massive steel grate loomed just ahead, though in truth, it seemed more like a blast door, nearly solid, save for finger-sized holes spaced near the top, vents to relieve a sudden wash of pressure without compromising the portal. The dim yellow light filtered weakly through these.

Tarrant followed right behind them, long slender limbs easily as fleet as theirs, and had his heart been capable of beating it would have pounded with fear at the threat of fire.

A cave, relentless flames... memories crowded up into his throat, his mind.

The reek of seared flesh and ash and searing black oil seemed to linger in his nostrils. He shook his head and ran on.

They reached the gate in moments. Raziel growled, flattening his hands against the scorched metal. It had been designed to be far too thick and heavy for even an elder to destroy. "Kain, go! Quickly, before we are all ash!"

Calculating risk.

 _Obey my will absolutely._

Running just behind Raziel, Kain struck the elder at full speed.

The instant his skin touched Raziel's, Kain forced the energy of transformation outwards, encompassing both bodies. They vanished in a tumbled roil of thick white mist.

Mistform was a chaotic whorl of energies to begin with. Dragging another being along with... was worse. Much worse. Raziel was enormously powerful, and the shadows of his mind tangled every perception, every iota of sense. The outside world was reduced to a kaleidoscope, a painting shredded and tossed into the sky. Every minute particle of the air was a barrier, was a ladder that could be scaled, was a fascination of charge and mass. The pool of mist swirled aimlessly for a split second, a fragment of a heartbeat... and then Kain seized the reins and forced the flow of thick smoke upwards, sieving rapidly through the perforations in the blastwall.

Tarrant followed, all of a sudden that seething black mass of teeth and eyes and savage hunger. He wanted nothing but to get away from the black, burning fate that this place wished to unleash upon him...

He crowded relentlessly behind them, driving them both on.

Raziel's essence was a pleasing presence, here in the chaos with Kain. The sudden pressure, threat, from behind was like a thousand splintered daggers, an abiding sense of wrongness. It was a force that did not belong to the world, no matter how closely it approximated the local energies. Kain longed to turn, to fight or perhaps to mingle and explore the differences 'twixt he and it, but a hint of something drove him on... he had a goal, a target, something he was supposed to do....

The white mist cleared the holes of the grate and drifted, whorling, confused for a moment as the black cloud rushed in afterwards. Something, a crystal fragment of memory, clicked into place. Kain dropped the magic powering the mistform. Both he and Raziel appeared abruptly... somewhere near the high ceiling.

Accustomed to the disorientation of re-materialization, Kain landed on his feet, and sprang for the thick steel lever, set into the wall. His hand fell upon it, and a series of clicks sounded, even through the heavy door. The black miasma was all but through the grating. And in the moment that Kain jammed the lever down, every one of those small holes became screaming jets of flame, as the hallway on the other side went incendiary.

Raziel, off-balance and tumbling through space, did not reform or land nearly so neatly--he fell in a tangle of limbs to one side of the corridor, wings snapping outward too late. Shaking his head, he tried to get his bearings as he rolled to his feet. How had--what had Kain ...? Then his eyes fell upon his sire as Kain shoved down the lever, and he realized--somehow Kain had gotten them *both* through the door.

The lever was heavy dark iron, and stiff with disuse--not that it mattered against a vampire's strength. With a low groan it released, and the fires on the other side of the door went out as if cut from their source, even as the wall itself began to creak open.

Apparently the timing of that final trap was somewhat faster than he had remembered. Oops.

Tarrant's mistform shrilled protest, roiling to the floor and smoking ominously. When he reformed, his face was quite enraged, but whatever had been singed was carefully hidden away.

Still, one could smell burning flesh.

Kain paused only a moment at the wash of warmth -- the unseen mechanisms in the wall rolled the blast gate aside only slowly, and vents in the long tunnel's ceiling were bleeding heat out into the chill night air, but even still, the lingering temperature was uncomfortably high. He glanced over Raziel, checking for any broken bones or undue unsteadyness, then stalked to Tarrant. "Where are you burned?" he demanded, voice low -- for though there was one more blast door, this one with larger perforations and worked by a simple sliding bolt, beyond could be seen the backside of a huge tapestry and the flickering dance of enchanted torchlight. Kain reached out imperiously, but carefully, to grip Tarrant's shoulder, intending to drag him close and search for the wounds he could not see.

Raziel pushed himself to his feet, also looking Tarrant over. He could scent injury, and scorched flesh--but it did not seem to be incapacitating. "Do you require blood?" He would not apologize for the trap. It had been a precaution laid in place eons before, and a sensible one. All he could have done was get them through it as quickly as possible.

"No." And Tarrant brushed past them, refusing to admit to more weakness. The blood that spattered to the ground in his wake did so less and less with each step as he swiftly repaired himself.

Kain snarled silently, and lunged after him.

Walking into a citadel thick with vampires, when one had open wounds, was worse than foolhardy. Granted, Kain and Raziel were still splashed with dry blood and charcoal, but fresh wounds had a deliciously sweet scent -- the smell of repressed pain, of deep flesh exposed to air -- all their own. Even Tarrant's.

And Tarrant was his now. That made a difference.

Kain's grip closed, iron-hard, around the Neocount's arm as he tried to stalk past. "Be still," he hissed, dragging Tarrant around. The claws of his left hand were still sharp, even if the arm was wounded, and sliced loose the buttons of Tarrant's doublet, over his belly. Kain slipped his hand inside, his palm first touching soft, chill skin... then a rough, wet place, that crackled.

Tarrant gasped, white-hot shock -- and then pain -- flickering over his face. He went rigid at the rough treatment, utterly, disbelievingly stunned at having been so rudely accosted.

"How dare you--!"

"Silence," Kain growled lowly, quickly determining the extent of the wound. The burned, oozing patch was large, over much of Tarrant's side and flank, weeping blood that left icy patches of frost on the ground. Shifting his grip to wrap around Tarrant's upper back instead, Kain half-carried, half-dragged the other man a few steps to the far corner of the small room. It was cooler here, and Kain pushed Tarrant's uninjured side against the chilly stone wall, pinning him there as the elder vampire tried to twist away from his grasp. Then Kain turned his wrist, and ripped open the Neocount's coat, baring the dripping, charred wound.

Wasting no time, Kain summoned to hand a rune-wrapped vial, uncorked it with his teeth, and began emptying the fluid within over the terrible burn.

Tarrant shuddered with relief as the blood glyph did its work.. His own resiliency Worked to regenerate the damaged flesh, fueled potently by that infusion of fresh blood, and soft new skin began to regrow over the awful mess that was his side.

But his expression held nothing but fury, most of it directed at Kain, some of it at himself for his own damnable weakness, his inability to just throw Kain off.

Fire damaged him terribly, and sapped his strength!

Raziel did not try to interfere with Kain and Tarrant. Instead he gave the neocount a wryly sympathetic look, as if to say _'see what I deal with?'_ , and turned to open the second door. This one was not quite as massive as the first; sliding back the bolt, Raziel hauled it open easily, scanning for any nearby sentries.

"Easy, Tarrant," Kain soothed as he might a furious animal, keeping the man trapped between the wall and himself. The vial emptied, he discarded it, and touched just ever so lightly across the rapidly healing wound, brushing away char from the new skin. Kain paused a moment to run the edge of his nail across the pad of his thumb, opening the skin in a narrow, deep slit, then applied the fresh blood to the most stubbornly damaged places.

The door between the escape tunnel and the Sanctuary was set into a torchlit alcove, covered by a thin tapestry. Upon easing the edge aside, Raziel could make out a long hallway, echoing, vaulted to the height of four men, magnificent in its solid construction. The stones were massive, worn smooth by time and many hands. The floor was simple flagstones, but finely matched and set into place. If Raziel remembered aright, and he _did_ , there were libraries to the left. The right led to a staircase, and eventually one of the abattoirs, as well as Turel's chambers... and Raziel's.

Tarrant just growled.

The halls were empty, no sentries in sight. Given how deep they were within the castle, it was not entirely unexpected, even if Raziel had not dared hope for such good fortune. Now he could only pray that none of his brothers were in residence. That would be very--inconvenient.

"Let us go," he whispered, summoning his disguise and wrapping the spell tightly around himself. After a final glance to make sure Kain and Tarrant were finished, he strode out into the corridor.

One last considering stroke, to be certain the wound was closed sufficiently, and Kain released Tarrant, satisfied. Though the man's skin was now whole -- char-streaked, but whole -- his doublet was quite shredded. Kain summoned to hand a waistcoat of Nosgothian origin and slung it over Tarrant's shoulders. It was too large for the man, and was a lighter shade of black than his tattered suit, but it would have to do. "Dress and follow closely," Kain instructed, turning to join Raziel.

A flick of fae and Tarrant's attire was as pristine as it ever had been! He made the waistcoat vanish, and, glowering, followed.

 

Raziel led the way down the corridor, feeling familiarity wash over him in a wave. He knew these halls, these stones; he had been there when they were laid. He had seen the ruin that they would eventually become--seeing these walls still standing tall, adorned with tapestries, made this mad quest seem even more like a dream.

 _The dungeons are this way,_ he Whispered to the others. They passed human servants, who prostrated themselves or scuttled out of sight. There were other lesser vampires in the halls as well, moving about their duties, but Raziel's guise held, and they were challenged with nothing more than a glance or a respectful bow. He passed his own former chambers with an imperceptible shiver, intending to head straight for the dungeons ... then stopped short as a frisson of _*something*_ went down his spine. _Wait. There is ... something ..._ He frowned, trying to figure out what the strange feeling was.

Kain's own magical cloak was less steady, and he could feel it wavering occasionally, when he attempted to apply it to the mind of a elder vampire. But even if the magic did not entirely take effect, it mattered little -- he was little more than a young fledgling, following along after another, more senior vampire. And for once, that designation suited Kain just fine. He tried to keep from craning his neck like some awestruck rube, but it was difficult -- the Sanctuary was enormous, massively constructed. The vampires and humans that passed them were in fine military or scholarly accoutrements, regally assured in their bearings, but with more drive and intensity than the Ancients had ever managed.

Kain stopped where Raziel did, lifting his head, inhaling. The scent of blood, and a great deal of it, wafted from one corridor. Human slaves scurried from that direction, carrying enchanted, covered containers. A young vampire led a pair of other slaves, these ones chained and cowering, down the hallway to their unseen destination. The fledgling took great care, lest the slaves should walk upon and dirty the fine carpet in the center of the hall. _Yes,_ Kain agreed, golden gaze tracking the terrified humans, _something indeed._

High upon the wall, between two tapestries, was a odd circular space, like two circles carved upon the stone. One was smaller, and was placed inside the larger. Both were dark, dusty, encircled with a glimmer of tarnished gold.

 _Look._ Tarrant whispered. He'd Worked an Obscuring upon himself; nothing to look at, nothing to pay attention to. One's attention wanted to ignore him.

 _There. Like a lock, waiting for a key. Use the vision I taught you, Raziel._

Glancing at Tarrant, Raziel nodded slowly. He concentrated, remembering the spell that Tarrant had forced into his mind, the painful clarity of *seeing*--

\--and opened his eyes to see the threads of magic that were woven all through the Sanctuary of the Clans. His aura was so full of darkmagic that it was almost like seeing double; the mundane reality of halls and carpets and stone, overlaid by rivers of power and the twisted twilight of the Underworld. And there, central on the wall was a familiar lock, glowing a sullen purple. _Aaah ... I see it now._ Raziel moved toward it.

It took a few moments for the corridor to clear sufficiently. Once the slaves were gone, Raziel summoned the wraithblade, and plunged the darkmagic-imbued blade deep within the lock. There was a flare of energy, and the rings shifted, clicking together, the door sliding open with the grating of stone upon stone.

Kain turned, startled by the sudden rumble. A man-sized segment of the cold stone wall had depressed slightly, and was sliding aside... but the illusion of it remained. The optical effect was disorienting, as the real stones slid away beneath the ghostly overlay. When the grinding ceased, the wall seemed unchanged, save upon close inspection.

Giving the blade wrapped around Raziel's right arm a wide berth, Kain moved closer. Glancing up and down the corridor, to be certain it was still clear, he lifted a hand -- and it passed through the now-illusionary wall. Cautiously, he stepped through.

The ceiling was lower here, the walls rough and dusty. The air was a little stale... and smelled of old blood.

Dismissing the wraithblade once more, Raziel followed Kain into the narrow passage, letting Tarrant follow as he willed. There was something ... familiar about this stair, and yet he knew he had never set foot in it before. It was almost as if he moved through a dream, as his feet found the first of many stairs, and began to descend ....

The Soul Reaver's glowing eyes seemed fixed upon Raziel, as he followed Kain down.

The stairway was steep, and very long; Kain's boots rasped on the rough-hewn stone. There were a handful of enchanted torches which lit themselves as the vampires drew near -- the first time one did, Kain tensed, hand going to the Reaver's hilt. But the torch seemed nothing more than a motion-activated light source, and he continued. In the narrow stairway, it seemed as if he had been descending forever, though it was likely little more than ten minutes.

The stairway dead-ended at a wall. This one, too, was marked on this side by another of those round, dark sigils. Kain stepped back from it. "Can you open this as well?" he asked of Raziel, keeping his voice still low, though he was not precisely certain why.

His eyes upon the wall, Raziel nodded silently. Squeezing forward, past Kain and careful not to touch the Reaver blade, Raziel summoned the wraithblade once more.

For some reason, he had an inexplicable dread of what he might see beyond the wall ...

Taking in a deep breath, he plunged the wraithblade home.

The spectral blade slunk in, as smoothly as a key into its lock. The wall rumbled and then shifted aside, leaving an illusion in its place, just as the last one had.

This time, the wash of warm air that tumbled out... stank of old gore and decay.

Kain stepped back, covering his mouth and nose for a moment in a very human reflex, before wisely electing to refrain from breathing altogether. "Raziel..." he started, suddenly and intensely uneasy. Had Kain, in his future madness, slain Raziel's kin and left them here as... a taunt? A jest? If so, it was a poor one. Raziel ought not to have to see... to see that.

The scent of blood--vampire blood--both roused his Hunger and his dread. His face was stony as Raziel stepped forward through the hidden door--and into what apparently was a most private prison.

His clan was ... everywhere. Dried blood was splashed over the walls, and his Razielim lay like cordwood over the floor, draped over each other in a broken tangle of limbs and bodies, tossed aside like a child's discarded toys. Many of them--most of them--had been staked, fanged mouths gaping wide, sightless eyes sunken into skulls. Others were imprisoned in cells, lying with arms reaching out through the bars, towards the bodies of their brethren. Those ... were emaciated, starved.

Kain swallowed, and stepped through the opaque wall after Raziel, keeping his distance from the blade that sang where it yet wrapped around the elder's arm.

The cellblock was long, and lit dimly with patches of small, glowing crystals embedded in the ceiling. In that filtered blue light, the blood that coated the walls, the floor, was black and crumbling. Kain gazed down the long, long cellblock. There had to be... more than a thousand bodies, piled like ragdolls, the broken hafts of staves or spears emerging from their chests like demented badges of honor.

By the dark gods. Even if vampires staked so long could be revived... some of them... some of them were assuredly beyond all hope. For there were others, their bony limbs reaching as thin as sticks from between the bars, their bodies sunken, seeming decayed. His eye caught upon grooves in the stone floor -- places men had clawed in their starving madness, for so long they'd damaged even the heavily-enchanted steel bats and stonework.

Kain started to say something -- anything to break the terrible, blood-drenched silence... and could find no words. Not for this.

"This is ..." Raziel dismissed the wraithblade, moving forward slowly. His face was set in a terrible mask of anger and despair. "...did vengeance require *this*?" He could not look at the younger Kain behind him, for fear he would not be able to hold his rage in check.

He knelt, reaching out to one of the nearest bodies, turning it over and straightening limbs gently. One hand still clutched the hilt of a broken blade in a convulsive grasp, pale features drawn in blank agony. Impaled through the chest by an iron spear, the vampire was one of the younger elders--perhaps three or four centuries of age. Raziel did not recognize him.

But ... there was a flicker beneath his hands. The barest guttering spark of power, calling out to its source ....

Kain could not answer that question -- did not know how. Kain knew what it was to be impaled -- to wander in that mindless realm, pain one's only constant companion... but for an entire year? Kain moved a little closer, slowly, and crouched, across the body from Raziel. "Can... he be revived?" he asked quietly. Kain did not ask after all the many, many others. Better for the moment to focus upon one at a time.

"With care ... perhaps the elders. The younger ones, any fledglings--my clan is strong, but to be imprisoned thus for a year ..." Raziel trailed off, his hands going to that impaling spear.

"Kain--stand back." If his Razielim were to be arrived, Raziel would need to call them back to themselves, instead of the blood-starved and maddened creatures they had become at the end. With that thought in mind, he dropped his disguise, letting his aura spread outward. Stripping off a gauntlet, he positioned one arm over the vampire's gaping mouth. Then he wrapped his other hand around the impaling spike, and brutally wrenched it free.

The moment the spear was removed, the vampire lunged upward, wild-eyed with insensate fury. Desiccated taloned hands clawed at the arm that barred him from rising; scenting blood, the vampire bit down, tearing at Raziel's flesh.

The instant blood filled his mouth, the younger Razielim froze, drawing heavily at the wound, his talons clenching cuttingly into Raziel's arm. Though he swallowed rapidly, there was no exterior change, his body repairing far more critical internal damage before it attended to skin or skeletal muscle. But the warrior's eyes slowly cleared, the milkiness of dessication fading from them, and with it, the worst of the blood-maddened hunger. His skin began to lighten at last, just a little, as fresh, potent blood flowed beneath it once more, like water in a desert land. The Razielim's limbs began to tremble.

Gradually, with painful reluctance, those long fangs withdrew from Raziel's flesh. "Ss..." _Sire?_ the sending was confused, nearly as muddled as the sound that only half-emerged from the Razielim's dessicated throat.

Kain had risen and stepped back, over a nearby body, to watch. After a few moments, he crouched to turn the corpse over onto its back -- a younger vampre, still with human hands, though claws as long as Kain's. He summoned to hand several of small, rune-wrapped bloodvials, emptying them one at a time into the man's silently-screaming mouth. Kain wrapped his hand around the gore-stained haft that protruded from the Razielim's chest.

 _Yes,_ Raziel Whispered, relief lightening his expression somewhat. _Tell me your name,_ he prodded gently, urging the elder to remember who and what he was.

 _I ..._ "I am ... am ... Hadrian." THe elder's voice grew stronger, his eyes brighter. "I am Hadrian, fourth-born of Simeon, of the Razielim ..." He reached up, not to claw at Raziel this time, but to grip those arms like a drowning man. "...lord Raziel? How ...? We tried to avenge you ...."

Kain watched the reunion closely -- Hadrian was in such poor condition it seemed as if he should not be able to move at all, yet the brief infusion of blood seemed to have brought him back to himself. It was clear, though, that Hadrian and any others that could be revived would need a much greater quantity of fluids -- volume, to replace the moisture needed by even a vampire's body. But evidently, a small amount of more potent blood, like that from a blood glyph, would be sufficient to start with.

The thought that perhaps it was the taste of *Raziel's* vitae, in particular, that had effected the recovery, did not occur to Kain. Satisfied that his staked fledgling had been prepared well enough, Kain dragged the broken spear clear of the man's flesh.

The young vampire's body arced like a livewire, breath bubbling as dry lungs filled, throat rippling convulsively as he swallowed the potion in his mouth. And then, shockingly fast, the vampire was atop Kain, thrashing with far, far greater strength than seemed possible. Kain punched out with his still-stiff left hand, his right arm twisting under him as he was thrown to his back. His fist was caught, his chin grasped, and Kain had only a split second for a startled curse before long fangs sank into his throat.

Tarrant dissolved into mist. In this state, the starving Razielim might well be damaged were they to sup on his blood!

 _I will feed you two from my own blood,_ he Whispered, _If need be. But these are best left to you._

"Hadrian," Raziel echoed--then stiffened as he heard the abortive cry. Shaking off the elder's grip he turned--and growled low in his throat as he saw the Razielim atop Kain.

"Bloody--!" He moved, reaching the struggling pair in a moment. A taloned hand wrapped into the Razielim's hair, and Raziel pulled him roughly off, forcing the man to release his bite. _I told you to stay back!_ he sent to Kain in exasperation, even as he pinned the thrashing, snarling vampire to the floor and shoved his bared forearm in front of the creature's bloodied face. The younger vampire took the bait, biting down, and Raziel roused his power, snarling down at him and sending furiously, _Enough! Wake and submit yourself to your lord!_

Dimly, he hoped that the darkmagic locks that had kept them out would also keep the rest of the castle from sensing an elder's roused power ...

The heavy, electric press of Raziel's aura was a balm even to Kain, as he clasped a hand over the ragged hole in his throat, trying to lay still for it to heal. For the juvenile Razielim, it was much more, and though he gripped Raziel's arm firmly, drinking in great gulps, something within him awoke. _Lord... Lord Raziel!_ The Razielim did not even try to close or control the mental connection; his scrambled thoughts bled through the link. _I am dead -- oh, but I have rejoined Him! Master, oh, God...._

The juvenile's snarl of rage eased -- this was Jabin, four-hundred-twelfth of Raziel's own fledges, and a seer of some small skill. The vampire was near delirious with unrefined joy, exultation.

Tarrant slipped away. He'd seen... servants, somewhere. Blood, he could scent it...

"Jabin ..." Raziel said, his anger fading, recognizing him now. His grip eased, his hand stroking over the tangled hair. One of his youngest fledges, and one who had seemed to have the most potential _... Jabin. Jabin. You are not dead. I have come back for you, all of you ... Take my blood, and then arise and serve me once again._

The comparatively young Razielim -- less than two hundred years of age -- had not the self-control to withdraw as quickly as had Hadrian. But his grip loosened from a white-knuckled grip around Raziel's forearm, and his arms wrapped slowly, stiffly, around Raziel's shoulders and the back of his neck, clutching at his Sire. Jabin at last managed to withdraw his fangs. "M... My God," he breathed, and it was not a blasphemy, simply a statement of fact. Raziel *was* their God. "You _live_."

Kain rolled to all fours, then slowly levered himself to his knees, watching.

"Yes," Raziel said simply. He stroked that hair once more, memorizing those familiar features. Then he straightened, looking as the piled bodies that still remained. "Jabin. K--Masiosare. Can you rise? We need to raise the elders first, and I may need your aid. If we can resurrect enough of the elder Razielim, they will help us with the younger ..." They would *all* need blood, however, and Raziel could not provide it. Not to so many.

If only there were a font nearby!

Kain growled a little to himself as he climbed slowly to his feet, head reeling. He had little blood to spare, as well. Seemingly-idly, he reached back, fingertips brushing the Reaver's hilt -- and the blade vanished into its dimensional pocket. If Kain were forced by hunger to drop his illusion of unremarkability, at least the signature weapon of the empire would not appear upon his back! Once steady, Kain extended a hand to Hadrian, then pressed three more of the bloodglyphs into his hand. "Drink these," he instructed the more powerful elder, who for the moment did not seem inclined to protest Kain's arrogance. "Mayhaps you had best wake them, sparing as little blood as possible," Kain admitted, "and I will distribute more of these." He had a great many... but he'd never imagined he'd need enough for something like this.

***

Tarrant's thick cloud of fog roiled up the long stairs, moving far faster than the vampires had originally progressed. He reached to top. Through the illusionary wall, a patrol could be heard walking at some distance, moving away. A door or gate opened down one hallway, and for a moment Tarrant could detect other sounds -- the soft and fearful sobbing of human slaves, a wet splashing. They seemed to be coming from a corridor the three men had passed, some little ways back down the main hallway.

Tarrant followed these very enticing sounds!

The corridor Tarrant flowed through now was as bright and open as all the others -- the vampires evidently saw little need to conceal this aspect of their existence. The double doors were massive, but one had been propped open. Within... Oh. *Delectable.*

Humans were chained to the walls, to precisely inclined tables, tubes carefully inserted into their arteries at thigh or wrist or throat. Some were being fed slowly with an enchanted liquid of chemicals and nutrients. Other humans darted between collection points and a massive, deep pool near the center of the abattoir, filling it by the bucketful. A trio of Melchiahim roamed the large chamber, refreshing the preservative spells on the bloodpool or attending to the human cattle -- checking on the quality of the trickle of vitae each produced. Some of the humans were released and healed, to be led back to their cells... others were loosed from their chains only once dead. The fear was so thick here, it seemed to have sunk into the very stones.

Tarrant... shuddered. He had meant to Whisper of what unfolded before his eyes, but...

It took several long moments for him to do more than contemplate this place, to gaze upon it with awe and lust.

Slowly, he sent the images through the link between himself and Raziel.

 _The abbattoir. Of course._ Raziel blinked. He could not fathom why he had not thought of that sooner, except that perhaps the sight of his clan lying thus had obscured his senses. _Tarrant--can you obtain the cooperation of those serving within? If you can imitate an elder, and command them ... Otherwise, they will need to die before they can raise an alarm._ Which was a waste, but Raziel was not inclined towards mercy towards those who lived, all unknowing, while his Razielim suffered in this pit.

"Tarrant reminds me of the nearby abbattoir," he murmured to Hadrian and the others. "We can bring blood down to aid our efforts." Rising to his feet, he began his search--looking for those Razielim he knew, the bodies sporting the talons and distinctive features of elder vampires.

Having drunk of the bloodglyphs, Hadrian looked around himself, seeing clearly for the first time. "My Lord... you have not stormed and overtaken the Sanctuary?" he asked, for aside from the fledgling and this 'Tarrant', Raziel seemed very much alone here.

Kain took a moment to hand several vials to Jabin, and assist him to his feet, then followed Raziel, stepping carefully over the bodies. "Some of these have been laid out properly," he murmured, half to himself, frowning. There had been some attempt at organization, which contrasted oddly with the way many of the bodies were still piled. But who had... Kain's gaze flicked to the spindly, outstretched arms of those Razielim who had been left to starve to death, locked in dozens of cells set into the long sides of the cellblock.

 _Tell me what to say,_ Tarrant whispered. _This cannot be botched._

Focusing on two conversations at once, Raziel did not register what Kain was looking at. _Tell them ... do not introduce yourself. Such underlings do not require it. Tell them you require slaves to carry blood for returning warriors. If your disguise is effective, they should not question it. Such requests are common. Command the slaves to silence, and we may be able to do this without arousing suspicion._

To Hadrian, Raziel said, "No, I have not come to tear down the walls of Sanctuary. I have come to take what is mine, and no more." There was a terrible anger still simmering, stoked by the sight of this dungeon, and it showed as he bent his gaze upon the elder Razielim. "Do you question my judgment?"

Hadrian bowed his head -- would have knelt more deeply, save for the lingering unsteadiness and the fear that he might suffer the shame of tumbling to the ground before his clanlord. "No, my Lord," he said, though his voice was a little choked. Did Raziel not burn for vengeance?

Kain crouched beside a row of warriors. They were laid upon their backs, side-by-side, talons or hands clasped just over the places where blades or staves pierced their hearts. Some attempt had been made at easing their death-grimaces. "Who was here, before us?" Kain asked, gesturing.

***

Tarrant drifted to a place where he might rematerialize in privacy. Taking on the shape and attire of a mid-ranking Rahabim -- sleek, lithe, his vanity demanding it -- he returned.

...To that wonderful, beautiful place. He would have to create such a place when he returned to Haven!

"I've need of slaves," he stated, his self-assurance absolute, his tone even, perhaps, a little bored. "To bring blood for returning warriors. Quickly, they said." _You know how impatient they get,_ his tone nearly seems to sigh.

***

"...what do you mean?" Raziel said distractedly, glancing over at Kain. He reached out, clasping Hadrian's shoulder for a brief moment. _My anger is the same as yours--believe me in that. But I will not indulge myself at the expense of your brethren._ With that, he released the elder Razielim and moved over to where Kain crouched.

"These are not like the others," he observed, somewhat confused. Why would Kain treat some of the Razielim like offal, but not others? Or had others been in this dungeon since the Razielim army's attack?

Kain traced the spotty, black smears upon the flagstones. "They were dragged into position after being... piled. Whoever moved them was not particularly strong." Kain, or other older vampires, would have simply carried bodies and laid them in place. Kain stood, and slowly walked along the cells set into the wall. "None of these are elders, and none of them have been staked," he said, at a loss for why.

Keeping well-clear of the possible reach of those stick-like limbs, Kain crouched, and experimentally drew another healing potion from its storage dimension.

Up above, a wizened Melchiahim looked up, from where he was just strapping a moaning woman more firmly to a table. "Pallu's troop has returned, has it?" the vampire grated -- his voice was rough and inelegant, but held a deeply intelligent kind of amusement. "How many wounded this time?" Expertly, he selected a needle, breathed a sterilizing spell, and tapped the deep vein at the crook of the human's arm. Bright red vitae dripped into a bowl, also enchanted, as the woman began to sob with quiet despair.

"...About a third." Tarrant stared at the woman... not with sympathy, but with lust.

Raziel followed, and knelt next to a cell, touching a withered, outstretched five-fingered hand. "The elders were staked, but the younger--were left to starve?" he murmured, starting to put it together. "They would have had time to know ... what might happen ..." They'd ministered to their brethren as best they could, and then ... locked themselves away? He bowed his head.

Kain's eyes widened, slowly, as he realized the implications of Raziel's words. "But... why?" he managed, after a moment. Simply out of thoughtless madness? Slowly, he began to tip a little of the healing potion into one of the withered palms, wondering if that might be an easier, or more effective, means of restoring moisture to dead flesh. He released his breath as the fledgling's desiccated flesh began to absorb the liquid, the skin plumping, lightening.

"My Lord -- Gershom!" Jabin had been wandering the piles of shadowed bodies as well, and had happened upon a familiar body. Gersom, Raziel's fourth-born, was one of the two generals who had led this disastrous assault.

***

Far above, the Melchiahim sighed as he leaned over to check the tubing under the table, muttering something to himself about the Turielim being such apes, it was a wonder they did not tumble headfirst into their own forges. Another Melchiahim wandered over, dipping a finger into the red vitae that dribbled into the bowl. "I told you the humans did not need more greens at this time of the year," he said, tasting.

"You know perfectly well they did," argued the first. He slid the bowl out, putting another in its place, and handed the original to Tarrant. "Tell me this is not far finer than usual," he said.

The other Melchiahim folded his arms. "One can scarce taste the difference," he claimed.

The third Melchiahim had evidently been passed Tarrant's request, for he strode about, calling a handful of slaves from their duties. Each human began filling large containers, pairs of which were meant to be carried upon a yoke, over the shoulders.

Tarrant tasted very delicately. "Sublime," he whispered.

"You see, it's sublime," stated the first Melchiahim.

"It is grassy," affirmed the second. The woman, aware she was being discussed, moaned and tried to writhe free of her bonds.

"It is verdant, crisp, with herbal and spice notes," argued the first. "Think of it paired with a pinot gris, aged for about three years..."

"Ah yes," the second rolled his eyes, "your very own cellar of grass-flavored bloodwines."

"Here are your slaves," said the third Melchiahim, handing the end of a leadrope to Tarrant with an apologetic shrug. Tethered to it upon their collars were six strong men, each carrying a pair of lidded pails, perhaps five gallons each. They stared at Tarrant with dulled eyes that had seen far too much horror.

Tarrant bowed deeply to the first two in utmost admiration of their craft, and turned to the third. And took the rope. "My thanks."

And he led the slaves off... with reluctance.

The woman had been delicious.

The two arguing Melchiahim paused to bow briefly in acknowledgment of Tarrant's farewell, before commencing to argue once more.

The abattoir's hallway was empty, but the one it met -- the one where the false wall was located -- was not. A half-dozen elder vampires in green -- their auras ranged from metallic to solid, like rivers of ore in the mountain -- trooped past. They were tall, strong-seeming, with craggy faces. There was another aura nearby, like theirs but far stronger, lingering, like the taste of quartz just dug from the mountainside. Ah, there -- the man stood, his back to the illusionary wall, discussing something quietly with a lesser vampire in green.

***

"Gershom?" Raziel rose to his feet, silently promising he would return for these as soon as he could. He made his way over to where Jabin knelt. There was the unmistakable form of his fledgling, the muscular body impaled not once but twice, features drawn back in a defiant snarl of pain, taloned hands gripping the blades that imprisoned him tight enough to dent the metal.

Raziel shook his head, and crouched down next to the body, touching the elaborately engraved pauldrons. "It is indeed. And I believe I have more than a few things to say to him regarding this fool's errand he has embarked upon." He settled one hand upon Gershom's throat, then reached down and roughly yanked the first blade free.

There was no movement. "You always were an obstinate one," Raziel growled, wrapping his hand around the second spear. With a yank, it slid free--and Gershom lunged upwards with a maddened roar.

Kain turned from the fledgling in time to watch Raziel draw a second spear from the chest of a great bear of a man, with peppered beard and grizzled features. Despite himself, Kain stepped back a little as, with a furious bellow, the vampire kicked out with unholy strength, denting Raziel's footguards and tumbling the elder to the ground. "Raziel!" Kain started forward, eyes on the bodies he would have to vault, and then... slender, stick-like arms closed around his shoulders and jerked him back against the bars. White fangs set into drawn-back gums glinted in the darkness.

Knowing Gershom as he did, Raziel had been expecting such an attack--but his fledgling's desperate strength surprised even him. Losing his balance as he stumbled over another impaled body, he was flung backwards by the savage kick. Gershom rolled to his feet, fangs gleaming through his beard as he snarled, his face savage, animalistic. There was no hint of recognition in those eyes, only madness.

Scenting the remnants of blood drying upon Raziel's arm, Gershom launched himself forward. With a snarl of his own, Raziel rolled to his feet, and smashed a fist into the maddened vampire's face, sending him reeling backwards in the wall. He was angry--had been angry ever since he entered this place. Seeing the state Gershom had led his Razielim to only made him angrier; and he was *tired* of his fledglings attacking him!

Gershom reeled off the wall, and went for him again. With a growl Raziel snapped a hand out, plucking the man out of the air by the throat and slamming him down to the floor once more. "This is likely better than you deserve," he snarled, and shoved his forearm towards those snapping jaws, watching without flinching as Gershom sank his fangs deep.

Kain fought to wriggle out of the grasp that kept him pinned to the bars, and gasped as yet another pair of fangs sank deep into his throat. His own claws dug into the nearly-human hands that gripped his shoulders, but fueled by desperate strength, the fledgling clung, one eye mad and wild, the other still dry and loose in its socket.

"Ho!" Hadrian picked his way as swiftly over the bodies as he could, and set to doing his best to pry the long eyeteeth from Kain's throat.

Gershom needed little more than a few swallows before his eyes suddenly brightened. Evidently, he'd been incapacitated relatively early in the battle, all those many months ago. He released the bite, one big palm covering Raziel's wounded arm instead, instinctively trying to stem the flow. "S... Sire?"

Watching as sense returned to Gershom's eyes, Raziel did not loosen his grip. His anger was not so quick to fade this time .... "Yes, Gershom." His grip tightened. "Tell me, Gershom. What did you think all *this* would accomplish?" His voice was low and tight.

Over at the cell, Hadrian dug taloned fingers into the fledgling's face, freeing Kain through the brutal expedient of forcing open the other vampire's jaw. He did not have much blood to spare, but ... gashing his wrist, he let a few drops flow into that gaping maw.

The starved fledgling voiced its complaint -- a high-pitched and murderous, broken wail as its prey was prized from its fingers. The sound cut off as blood was offered, but it lunged at Hadrion, throwing itself against the bars, as that blood was withdrawn.

Beneath Raziel, Gershom struggled for breath with which to speak. "We -- I -- was not there, not in time. To stop them at the rim of the chasm. What else could we... vengeance, honor -- _is it truly you?"_

In response, Raziel opened his mind, reaching out for that familiar connection between them. It was not hard to find--Gershom was one of his oldest fledglings. He had stood with Raziel and Kain when a bare handful of vampires were all that were left in the world, when they had nothing to claim as their own save each other.

 _Yes, Gershom. I returned for the Razielim. I heard from a Zephonim spy that the army you had led against Kain might yet still live ... and so I left the others and came here, looking for you._ Raziel did not bother to hide his emotion in the sending--a roiling mixture of incandescent anger, relief and frustrated worry.

The fledgling was not one of Hadrian's own, but still he tried to calm it, throwing his power, tattered as it was, outward. "*Listen* to me--be still," he ordered, grabbing the creature's wrists to imprison the clutching hands. "Do you have more of those vials?" he said to Kain. "He will not calm unless we can give him sustenance..."

"Returned?" Awe hung in the word, despite Gershom's present predicament. _Then Arat and the others... they had the right of it?_ Flashes of images, impressions, spinning away, those who had made the trek with Gershom's and Zimri's forces, but who had gone no further than the roaring abyss, the Lake of the Dead. Sudden shame, intense, at having not the courage -- or perhaps the humility -- to take that path above this one. And a pure flame of hatred for the being that had damned his Lord to hell. "We... did not succeed? What transpired here?" He could see little, with Raziel pinning him to the ground, but the scent of blood was so thick....

Kain nodded, gingerly removing his hand from the still-torn side of his throat. At least he was not freely bleeding, but the healing came slower each time, now. Quickly, he found another vial, uncorked it with his teeth, and began to trickle the liquid into the snapping maw. The fledgling gave up the fight, let himself be held at the wrists, stretching up to try to lap at the bottle. As abruptly placated as the fledgling seemed, if he'd found flesh, he'd have been only too happy to rip that open, instead. "That... expansion of your aura," Kain asked the elder beside him, "it calms the young?"

Hadrian threw him a confused glance, obviously wondering what manner of fledgling Kain was, that he did not know something so obvious. But preoccupied by the fledgling's struggles, he did not pursue it. "In some cases, but not always," he said evenly, watching for signs of returning intelligence in his captive. "It can also be seen as a challenge, or threat, if the other vampire is of similar stature or power, or of a different clan. But if the vampire is younger, or of your own bloodline--showing your power provides reassurance, commands them to obedience." With unspoken consequences should the fledgling not obey. Like wolves, vampires offered submission to consolidate their hierarchy--and like wolves, there was always the risk that an elder could refuse to be placated by it, and rip out a bared throat.

Hadrian's own aura was nothing like the all-encompassing black sun of Raziel's, much less like the oppressive stormfront that preceded Kain wherever he chose to appear. But it was sufficient to command fledglings and maintain his stature among the Razielim.

At the far wall, Raziel's face darkened with Gershom's sending. _No, Gershom. I walked through a tortuous path to return. None of the others will follow me--they threw away their lives for *nothing*._ His talons tightened on that throat. _Just as you were willing to throw yours away, just to wreak some paltry manner of vengeance upon Kain. Did he laugh as he spitted you? Did he thank you for bringing the flower of my clan to him for his delectation?_

Gershom gasped, a near silent wheeze of air. _For every blade that found his flesh, oh yes! Vengeance would have been worth my death, and my fledglings' deaths -- for you had committed no sin._ Normally a placid commander, there were few causes that could lead Gershom to a suicidal act -- but this, the defilement and abandonment of his Lord, his Sire and God, was beyond reason. And yet... Gershom had erred. And he knew it. Slowly, he lifted his chin, baring more of his throat to those cutting claws.

"Verily?" said Kain, oblivious to the mortal drama being plaid out behind him. He thought about it for a moment. "No spell is necessary, correct, simply a..." he paused at the look of combined confusion and sympathy on Hadrian's face. Kain scowled to himself. And tried it.

Gripping ahold of what Kain dimly sensed was his own nimbus of power, he fed it, flung it outward. When Raziel did this, his anger could be felt for three city blocks or more in every direction. Kain covered, perhaps, forty feet. But like a crack of thunder, the force rolled through every body present, an electric, reshuffling, visceral puissance.

The fledgling that had been lapping at the vial with small, needy sounds promptly shut up and sat down, which was very much what Kain had wanted, anyway. Jabin tottered a moment, then seized a stray sword from the floor and crouched, casting about, tying to find the cellblock's entrance to better defend it. Hadrian dropped the fledge's wrists and dove for a weapon. Gershom's eyes widened. Confused, Kain summoned a blade to hand as well. Had Tarrant done something on the stairs, or....

Raziel, who knew that aura as well as his own, dropped Gershom instantly and spun, crouching on one knee, every line of his body both wary and submissive. The pose lasted only a moment--and then Raziel's eyes widened as he realized the source of that sudden surge of power.

 _Kain! Do you *want* them to kill you? It is your future self that they fear--your future self that imprisoned them here!_ The sending was sharp, overlaid with exasperation and fear. If any of his brethren were in residence, or worse, an elder Kain ...!

Gershom, for his part, had rolled to one side as soon as Raziel had released him, grabbing up the spear that had so recently impaled him. Eyes blazing, he gathered his feet underneath him, ready to defend his lord, even from the Master himself.

Oh, bloody hell. Kain dropped the intense charge around himself as quickly as he could, letting it fade. Hopefully, it might feel as if the power were moving away. _But they did not recognize me before -- why should...._ of course, the intensity of the aura probably had something to do with it. Kain growled to himself as he stepped around Hadrian, and over the piled bodies. He passed his hand through ghostly bricks. "This wall is illusionary," he whispered, as if keeping his voice low against some unseen danger. "You two, set up guard here. Do not assault anything coming through before you ascertain its identity -- we have an ally, bringing blood. Keep quiet."

Taking control was far more effective a strategy than denying involvement. Especially when the fault was one's own....

***

Many feet above and far to the side of the hidden prison, Turel cocked his head. His ear twitched, just slightly, as he frowned at the messenger.

***

Raziel stayed crouched a moment more, tensely straining his senses for any indication that others from the outside had sensed Kain's presence. Hearing nothing, he straightened, nodding to both Hadrian and Jabin. "Do as he says," he said, keeping his voice low in keeping with Kain's playacting. "Gershom--" He turned to his fledgling. "Help me find Zimri, if she yet lives, and the other elders. We will revive them first, that they might help us tend to the rest." He hoped Tarrant would return soon with blood--he and Kain both could not revive very many more without succumbing to their own Hunger.

Gershom slowly straightened, dark golden eyes scanning the dungeon, falling upon the others. "My lord, what was ... that was ...?" Silenced by Raziel's darkening expression, he swallowed and bowed his head. "As you command."

***

Tarrant bent his will towards that watchful onlooker, whispers of thought, manipulation, intention settling like a delicate veil over the elder's mind.

 _You will let us pass. You will suspect nothing unusual. You will let us pass._

He did not slow his own, nor the slaves', progress.

That delicate veil settled upon a mind older even than Tarrant's. Turel's brow furrowed, and he held up a massive, three-clawed hand.

"My Lord?" prompted the lesser elder, rolling up the scroll he'd been showing to Turel. His gaze skipped blankly over the slaves being led just behind his Sire's back... but Turel's ear twitched.

Thin though it was, Tarrant's veil of magery was sufficient. Silenced by another simple spell, the slaves trailed behind Tarrant, mindlessly following him through the apparently-solid wall of the Sanctuary. Balancing their burdens carefully, the men followed the Neocount down the narrow stairs, into darkness pierced only by the flickering torchlight.

***

Kain knew not what this Zimri looked like, nor how to tell a clawed elder of low rank from one of high rank. Rather than wander the corridor of corpses, picking out men who might not be useful, Kain returned to the cell where the half-conscious fledgling sat. Neurotically, the fledge -- a man, evidently -- had begun to gnaw at his own wrist. Damnation. Kain rolled a bloodglyph between the bars -- and watched as the fledge ignored the vial utterly, his basal animal intelligence evidently not having learned what was inside the little glass tube. Fabulous.

Glancing over at the fledgling Kain was preoccupied with, Raziel regretfully decided not to intervene. It was obvious that the creature needed attention--but so did hundreds of others, and Raziel had to choose amongst them who could do the most good for others.

Zimri was not near where Gershom had lain, and so Raziel moved deeper into the dungeon, picking over piled bodies, searching for the few females among them.

Kain growled lowly. It did not seem... right to leave the vampire -- younger even than himself -- like this, ripping apart his own near-bloodless skin again and again, simply for the brief, self-destructive taste of vitae. Kain broke the seal on another vial, and this time, drank it himself, swallowing the thick, chill liquid. The potion did much to replenish the strength he'd lost in feeding Jabin and then this fledgling, though it did nothing to replace the volume he'd thus spent. Kain bit open his own wrist, his blood seeping far thicker than normal, and extended it between the bars. The fledgling was on him in an instant, clutching his arm, biting deep.

Gershom moved alongside Raziel. He picked up body after body, moving them, whenever they lay piled more than two deep. The sheer horror, the extent to which he had failed his own, was far heavier than the corpses. "Aquila, My Lord," he said, softly. Raziel's sixteenth had never commanded more than threescore men, but his doggedness and spirit had made him a favorite of their Sire's.

At Gershom's words, Raziel paused, stepping over to him. Aquila had been wounded grievously before finally being impaled, with bone deep cuts visible on his limbs and a slash along his abdomen that bulged with the deep black-purple visceral flesh, now long-dried and unhealed. His face grim, Raziel knelt to revive him. Aquila would require a great deal more blood than Gershom had.

This time Raziel took the precaution of dribbling a measure of his blood past those dried lips, wetting tongue and throat. Then he took the wooden shaft that impaled Aquila and wrenched it free. Like the others, Aquila lurched upwards, snarling in rage and desperate hunger. He did not possess Gershom's strength, however, and Raziel pinned him easily, ignoring the hands clawing at him as he ripped open his wrist once more and shoved it at the frantic vampire. Aquila fed greedily, eyes fluttering and his desperate strength fading as his flesh tried to heal itself.

Glancing up at Gershom, Raziel nodded at the newly arrived slaves with their precious cargo of blood. "Apportion the blood out to yourself and the other elders as they are revived. Let no one drink to satiation--we have a limited supply and many mouths. Let those revived drink only enough to allow them some measure of strength, so that they might share that strength with the others." Which would mean they would all be desperately hungry by the time their work was done, but so be it. That would only make his Razielim more dangerous, not less.

Tarrant slipped back, keeping watch lest that elder prove... difficult. _There is more blood above. But there is an elder in our way,_ he Whispered, giving them a mental image of the vampire in question.

Kain shrugged a little, as well as he was able. The fledgling seemed determined to drink him dry. _Enough_ , he tried to tell the vampire, and received nothing more than an animalistic growl in response. He did not dare try flaring his aura again. At last he was forced to wrench his arm back, losing a long strip of skin in the process. The fledgling crashed into the bars, clawing at him, now much strengthened, and Kain backed off as quickly as he was able.

 _I do not recognize that elder,_ Kain offered to Tarrant, though in truth, there was very little reason he should know any of them at all, beyond a few of the Razielim. He broke open another bloodvial for himself, then walked -- albeit unsteadily -- to where the slaves crouched, fear beating behind their glassy eyes. _Well done, Tarrant._

Kain removed the lid from one of the enchanted containers, and summoned to hand a drinking horn, dipping it into the thick, red liquid. Careful not to spill the least drop, he made his way back to where Raziel crouched, his arm in the grasp of a three-clawed vampire. "They all will need something from you, methinks," Kain said, waiting until Raziel was loosed to offer the horn. Only five revived, and already he bordered on exhaustion! "Something beyond blood."

Aquila relinquished Raziel's arm with a low, soft cry, and then was silent, body curling, shuddering, his hand covering the terrible wound in his abdomen. But his mind had returned. _Raziel!_

 _Yes, Aquila. Rest, and heal. We will need your strength._ Taking the horn, Raziel took a bare couple of swallows, then handed it back. He would not allow himself to take more than his Razielim--and he could subsist for longer on less blood than the younger vampires in any case.

 _I know him,_ he Whispered grimly to Kain and Tarrant, a long-buried anger underscoring the words. _That is Turel. He is lord of the Turelim; and he will show us no mercy should he discover our presence._ If only out of fear of Raziel's own righteous rage, for Turel and Dumah who had been the ones to cast him into the Abyss ...

Throttling down his anger, Raziel addressed himself to Kain's concern. "Blood calls to blood," he murmured. If the fledgling's sire were awake, he could do it. As it stands ... his line-sire shall have to suffice." He moved to stand in front of the cell. Raziel did not know this fledgling's name, or his lineage. He did not need to.

 _Wake!_ he ordered, knowing that the fledgling could not ignore his power. _Wake and tell me your name, child._

The fledgling shrank back from the bars, confusion replacing unthinking hunger. _I ..._ He had met Lord Raziel only once, upon his presentation, but ... He sank to his knees, gripping the bars for support, dazzled eyes wide. "Kh-Khel. I am Khel ... my lord? How did ..."

Kain frowned. _Tarrant. Is this 'Turel' blocking our exit? Or our access to further blood supplies?_ He drank from the horn with less restraint than had Raziel -- the blood was far finer than most preserved vitae he had tasted, rich, full-bodied. He had self-control enough, though, to leave the last few swallows. As Aquila slowly began to relax where he lay, his expression one of shock and exultation as well as pain, Kain slipped a hand under his head, and helped him lean up enough to take the rest of the blood, one sip at a time. He frowned at Tarrant's response. _Raziel... can this 'Turel' be distracted? Or slain, perchance?_

Kneeling before him, the fledgling gazed up at Raziel in wonder. "Master. Am I dead?" His wide-eyed gaze skipped to the bodies, and the blood, behind Raziel. "Is this... is this His hell, my Lord?"

Jabin had searched out a few cups and tankards from amongst the equipment that littered the floor -- the bodies had been tossed here without so much as a cursory search. He filled them, and followed the other two elders. Gershom had found a group of several of his own descendants, and revived the first of them. With a roar, the taloned vampire assaulted him... and was fed from his wrist, and then calmed through the newly-arisen confusion. Hadrion paused to collect a pouch-full of bloodglyphs from Kain, who surrendered them with a shrug, and went in search of his own kindred.

"It was hell for a time, perhaps, but no longer," Raziel said in answer to the fledgling's wonderment. The cell was still locked, but that proved little impediment--Raziel simply set talons against the lock and sheared through the metal, letting the hasp clatter to the ground. "You have already aided your brethren once," he continued, his voice gentling. "I saw the evidence of your care. Now I need you to help the others once again." He opened the door and reached down, drawing the fledgling to his feet. A brief touch on his face, and a squeeze of the shoulder; and then Raziel turned away, back to the others who still required his attention.

 _Much as I would like to end Turel's miserable life, he must not be slain, Kain,_ he Whispered. _He still has a role to play out--and I do not feel merciful enough to save him from the punishment that will await him._ Even as he sent those words, he knelt before another elder, pinning the impaled body beneath one knee and repeating the process of unstaking and resurrection.

 _Very well... but that does leave the predicament unaltered. How exactly will we conceal your clan from him, and from the others above, when we depart? Can he be lured away?_

Rather reluctantly, Kain took up the role of a fledgling. He was not strong enough to prevent most of the maddened, newly-risen from overcoming him, nor was he a Razielim, to call them back to themselves. Even if he was enough akin to a Razielim to manage it -- and he might well not be -- Kain knew better than to attempt to utilize a flaring of his energies again. So he busied himself, carrying blood to the newly-risen and to the elder who had fed them, distributing bloodglyphs.

 _We will either need to arrange for a diversion--perhaps make Turel think the Sanctuary is being attacked, or something similar--or we shall have to discipline ourselves to patience, in the hopes of concealing our egress later. He will not stay in that corridor forever, after all._ As little as Raziel liked the idea of staying in enemy territory longer than necessary (and how strange, to consider the Sanctuary of the Clans enemy territory!), it might be the only practical solution. Wait until the sun was high, and the lesser vampires had retreated to their chambers ... it was not a perfect answer, but a doable one, especially if Tarrant could help cloak their presence.

The resurrection of the other Razielim had picked up in pace, as more hands and blood were brought to the task. The elder under his hands jerked to wakefulness with only a bare swallow of Raziel's blood--after the usual reassurances, Raziel left him to the others and proceeded to the next.

Kain frowned, considering the time. _I'll not cower here, for fear of this 'Turel.' If an attack is sufficient distraction, I can provide one -- or at least summon enough lightning to approximate the appearance of one._ Kain considered for a minute, as he wrapped an arm beneath a young vampire's shoulders and tilted his drinking horn carefully, letting the fluid trickle slowly into the man's mouth. _Am I distinguishable from my... my future self, whilst I fly as a flock of bats?_ If not, then perhaps his mere sighting would cause a measure of chaos.

"Zimri, my Lord," called Hadrian from where he sorted through bodies, looking for vampires of his own direct lineage. He gathered the woman's body up, her limbs limp, and carried her body towards Raziel. She'd been staked crosswise, from armpit to waist. The talons of her left hand, however, were spattered with old, flaking blood -- jet black in the flat blue light.

 _You are not. Though I do not--wait. Perhaps ..._ The Whisper was cut off in mid-sentence at Hadrian's announcement. Rising from another elder that he'd been about to unstake, he took Zimri from Hadrian's arms. "Zimri ..." She had been the first woman to impress him enough with her fire and utter ruthlessness that he had made her his own--had made her Razielim. And she had never failed him in all the centuries since.

Kneeling, he lowered her to a bared patch of floor. Placing one knee on the center of her chestplate, between her breasts, to pin her there, he wrapped one hand around the long stake that had impaled her and began to pull it out. It was not an easy thing to do--Zimri had been impaled so thoroughly that the wood could not be yanked out in a single heave. The minute the shaft withdrew from her heart, however, she lunged upward--or tried to. Eyes blazing with maddened fury, her taloned hands clawed at her sire.

"Lady Zimri!" Hadrian called out, trying to pin one of the flailing limbs as Raziel finished withdrawing the stake.

Zimri gulped just enough breath for a husky scream of rage as the shaft pulled free with a bloody squelch. Her claws carving into Raziel's thigh, she twisted her hand free of Hadrian's grasp and backhanded the weakened Razielim into a tangle of bodies, nearly managing to impale him once again on the spikes which bristled from them.

Gershom thrust the vials he was holding at one of the dazed, newly-risen vampires, and leapt down the hall. He fell to his knees beside the struggling pair and bit open his own wrist, pressing it down over the female general's face. She might not be directly blood of his blood, but they had been raised within a few years of one another, had grown to know each other over centuries. Narrow fangs carved into Gershom's flesh, and Zimri drank greedily.

 _Zimri. Zimri! Attend me!_ It was hard to force his Whisper past the maelstrom of fury that seemed to encompass Zimri's mind. It was far more than just the expected beastial Hunger, but an incandescent rage born of seeing one's rightful prey denied _.... ZIMRI!_

She subsided, blinking up at him past the barrier of Gershom's wrist, though she made no effort to release it. _My l--Raziel? This is impossible. I felt your death ... Anani saw you fall._

 _This is real. I have returned. Taste my blood, and you will know the truth of it._ Gashing his wrist once again with his own fangs, Raziel profferred it to her.

Slowly, swallowing one last time, she released Gershom's wrist. It was withdrawn, and she lapped cautiously at the thick liquid that trickled slowly down Raziel's skin -- the bite he'd made had already healed -- alert for any trickery. But there was none.

With a soft gasp, Zimri drew her talons as carefully as she could from the muscle of Raziel's thigh. "You... what..." _You are risen -- does this mean we succeeded, my Lord? We nearly had him!_

Hadrian sat up slowly, though he made no attempt to rise for the moment as he rubbed his palm against his forehead, looking sour.

 _No, Zimri. You set yourself against Kain, and you failed._ Raziel's sending did not cast any blame, but was uncompromising in its truth. "Look around, Zimri. You and your warriors were interred here at Kain's pleasure. I have returned in order to claim them once again, and reunite my Razielim." He reached out and cupped a hand along the side of her face, talons curling into blood-encrusted hair. _Leave aside your vengeance, Zimri. Leave Kain to me--I have other tasks for you._

Unlike other Razielim, Zimri had never been afraid to argue with her sire. "Lord Raziel--you will just let this pass? What he did to you--it was unconscionable!" There was no hesitation in her blasphemous sentiments, even if the other younger revived Razielim flinched at them.

Kain folded his arms and glowered -- even more so when he was jostled out of the way of a handful of fledglings, carrying covered buckets towards where many of the elders were still rapidly seeking out and resurrecting their kin. The fact that he knew full well that Raziel and his general spoke truthfully was little comfort -- Kain had committed unconscionable acts, had secreted these warriors away for purposes unknown. What would he do, after all, if Raziel decided not to permit this injustice to stand?

Zimri's eyes blazed, but she tilted her head up, pressing her cheek into Raziel's palm. "Let us seek him out together, my Lord. Let us ensure that Kain reaps the whirlwind he has sown."

Kain growled to himself. _I go to arrange the distraction,_ he announced, pushing off from the wall and stalking towards the illusionary wall. _Be ready within the hour._

*That* caught Raziel's attention. Turning to Kain, he frowned. _Wait--Kain. I dislike you risking yourself without recourse. If Turel or any other elders should catch you ... you might not be able to escape. Not without serious injury._ In truth, he wasn't sure what Turel would do if confronted by this apparition of a younger Kain. He did not think his brother would attack blindly--but he would not trust it either.

 _Then I shall not be caught,_ Kain stated, thought he paused near the concealed door. _If worst comes to worst, I shall simply teleport back to the landing atop the stairs. In any case, we cannot wait -- all it would take is one slave scrubbing the walls to discover this place._ And as weak as they were, cornered and trapped, the Razielim would be sorely at a disadvantage. Kain turned and stepped through the stone wall.

 _Kain--!_ But the younger vampire was already gone. "Damnation!"

Zimri frowned up at him. "My lord?"

Raziel shook his head, trying to ignore the feeling that events were rapidly slipping out of his control. "No, Zimri. I will not leave the others here, in this place, merely to sate my appetite for revenge. Kain's time will come--we have other matters to attend to." His words were iron-hard, brooking no disagreement. Taking a drinking cup from a nearby fledgling, he gave it to her. "Drink only what you need, then help me resurrect the others. We leave the Sanctuary of the Clans within the hour, and I need all the surviving Razielim able to bear arms, if necessary."

The process of resurrection gathered speed with each elder revived. Dozens of vampires became hundreds, all casting dim, moving shadows across the floors and walls in the attenuated light. Roars of rage mingled with cries of pain or exultation. Within a half hour, most of the newly-risen were forced to the sidelines, to cluster in small blood-related groups -- the corridor simply was not wide enough for so much activity. The blood ran out with several hundred left to raise, and soon the slaves were culled for the nourishment in their arteries.

Above, Kain found himself in rather less desperate circumstances. He'd sensed the nearness of a very great entity long before he'd reached to top of the stairs. Rather than exit that way and risk discovery, he teleported back to the tunnel exit, well outside the sanctuary. Flying in was not difficult; enough native bats flocked in this area to sufficiently conceal his activity.

The areas near the secret stairway were crowded with men, humans and vampires both, going about their business. But the five other wings of the Sanctuary, as well as the open-air arena that protected the Pillars -- only cracked stubs of the once-mighty shafts remained -- were only thinly staffed. A few guards stood bored, a few slaves scuttled. Kain spent some time upon the rooftops and crenelated walls, formulating a plan. At last relatively certain of success, Kain Whispered. _Whenever you are prepared, Raziel._

The last few had been the hardest to raise--with no other blood to spare, Raziel had eked out what he could from his own veins as well as that of the other elders, until the red haze of Hunger overlaid anything, making it difficult for him to recognize even his Razielim as anything other than *prey*. He held on to those bare strands of control with grim and desperate determination. If he succumbed to his hunger and attacked his clan here, the lesser vampires would soon follow as soon as the bloodsmell rose--and he refused to let his Razielim descend into nothing more than cannibalistic animals!

Raziel's Whisper, when it came, was overlaid with a growling tone, a sense of hunger scraping at the edges of his temper. _Do it now, Kain--and do it safely. It will take all I have to keep those here under control and heading out of the castle. I am not sure if we can come for you, if you are discovered._

Hauling a last dazed fledgling to his feet, Raziel released him to the care of the others, and pushed his way towards the stair where Tarrant stood with Gershom and Zimri. "We are leaving," he said, biting the words off, knowing their tempers were as strained as his own. This many hungry vampires, in this small a space--was never a good thing. "Follow my lead, and let none stray. Any who see us, die. No exceptions." Gershom nodded silently, his face statue-still; Zimri's expression was more snarl than smile, vicious and predatory.

"As you will it, my lord."

Turel was strolling towards the library, deep in discussion with his ministers, when he was assaulted by a madman.

The human was surely that, for who else would make an attempt on the life of a clanlord? But, though garbed in the sackcloth of a slave, the human was armed with a venom-dripping dagger in one hand, and a fistful of magical flays in the other. The creature was able to approach remarkably close before Turel noticed the clink of steel. And then, once apprehended by the lesser Turelim, the suicidal human released all the flays at once, choosing to dissolve in an explosion of gore and shrapnel rather than submit to questioning.

Scarcely had the ministers clutched their resulting wounds when a distant alarm sounded. Turel outranked every vampire in Nosgoth save one, but it took him nearly a minute to get a coherent Whispered answer out of any of the commanding guards. _My Lord, the slaves have been released -- cattle and gladiators both!_ From the roaring, not only the humans, but the war- and sport-beasts had escaped.

 _We face a human insurgency,_ Turel broadcast, tense, ignoring the spatters of blood across his face and clothing. The refuse had clearly gained access to the fortress by blending in with the truly broken slaves. But had their sole purpose been to assassinate him, or...

 _Siege engines!_ Came a mental shout, though Turel could not determine its source.

No, not mere assassination. Chaos was being wrought for some other purpose. If the cowed humans believed the Empire weakened by Raziel's demise, if they knew of Kain's absence, they would be seeking a tactical advantage... such as control of the Sanctuary itself. _Contain the uprising by sealing off any afflicted wings. Man the walls immediately,_ Turel sent the order to all who could hear as he stalked towards the main gates to take command, leaving behind the three most seriously wounded of his ministers. The elder Turelim slouched in the blood-smeared hallway, recovering as rapidly as they were able.

Raziel, waiting at the head of the stairs with Tarrant, heard Turel's roar of pain and rage as clear as day, and a dark smile crossed his lips at the sound. His brother had always envied Raziel's position as eldest. Now that he had it, Raziel devoutly hoped he'd choke on it when he was forced to answer to an elder Kain for his actions this day.

The clamor subsided slightly, Turel's potent aura moving away, towards the other parts of the castle. Raziel looked back at Tarrant, unruffled as always, and the others, waiting for the word with hungry anticipation, golden eyes gleaming in the darkness. "We go *now*," he said simply, moving even as he said the words.

The Razielim boiled out of the hidden entrance like wasps from a nest, Raziel at their head. The hallway was far from abandoned--sentries, bloodied Turelim elders, and a few frantic and running slaves all stared in shock at the sudden emergence of this tattered, bloodsmeared horde. None of them were given so much as a second in which to shout a warning.

Raziel took one of the Turelim for himself, lunging across the corridor and tearing the man's head almost completely from his body. Driven by Hunger, he drank deep even as the elder struggled to heal, to defend himself--and continued drinking until there was nothing left but an ashy husk. It had been one of Turel's eldest, he noted vaguely afterwards--though he could not remember the name. Fitting, that Turel's offspring should die to feed the brother he had betrayed.

The other Razielim had done much the same, tearing apart the remaining prey with starving savagery until there was nothing left but bloody scraps and ash. Raziel turned from his kill. _Follow me._ Tarrant had already taken the lead, and now Raziel caught up with him, leading his clan down into the dark passageway that meant their freedom.

From his perch atop a cornice, Kain watched closely as Turel crested the outlying battlements, as he scanned the field of battle for himself... and found an empty field. He watched the ancient vampire's face settle stonily as he queried the other guardposts, finding no evidence of impending assault. But it was not until Turel's head whipped around, until his whole body tensed with shock, that Kain hissed a curse. One of those elder ministers Kain had been forced to leave, wounded and nearly in Raziel's path, must have managed a warning, albeit perhaps an unclear one. Turel crouched to leap from the battlement.

Growling to himself, Kain aimed carefully, and fired a single telekinetic bolt. The little ball of force streaked away... and shot into a well-protected, barred window, across the courtyard. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, though Turel's keen ears might have caught the crack of breaking barrels, the splash of liquid, the high-pitched hiss of magical devices igniting. And then, with a rumbling BOOM that shook slate roofing tiles loose under Kain's feet, the Sanctuary's central stores of purified alcohol ignited. _Move swiftly, Raziel,_ Kain warned, urgently.

The heavy door that led to the passageway was easily opened--Raziel jammed down the lever that disabled the flame-traps beyond just as the walls shook around them with a thunderous explosion, dust sifting from the ancient mortar. _Kain...?_ Raziel paused, uncertain if that had been his sire's doing or something else, something worse ... but he could not afford to hesitate for long. Gershom and two of his lieutenants had already hauled open the second gate, revealing the stygian blackness beyond, redolent with acrid smoke.

"Gershom, Zimri--lead the clan through the passageway and away from the walls, quickly," he ordered. "Stop for nothing. I will remain here and ensure that all have passed through before closing the gate behind us." He glanced at Tarrant. _Make sure they get past the darkmagics, if any remain--do *not* let them tarry._ The neocount nodded silently.

Gershom looked as if he wanted to protest, but he knew better than to waste his breath. "We shall wait for you on the other side," he said instead, after a glance at his fellow general. Turning, they disappeared into the darkness, leading their army once again. The Razielim filled the narrow corridors to bursting and beyond; but their discipline held. More than a few glanced at Raziel as they passed, as if to confirm that their lord had truly returned, but they did not falter out of their disciplined ranks, weapons and talons at the ready.

Thoroughly coated in blackening ash and bits of debris from the merrily burning storehouse, Kain rubbed at his eyes. When he blinked up, claws scrabbling for purchase on the soot-slick cornice, Turel was gone. Where in the name of the dark gods... but the potence of his aura suggested that he must be close. Very close.

Oh, bloody hell.

Three broad, faintly greenish, now blackened claws appeared over the edge of the rooftop. Kain's eyes widened as a craggy, snarling, thick-fanged visage followed, golden eyes blistering with fury.

Kain let himself go, sliding helplessly off the sloped roof. The moment Kain was out of sight -- he hoped! -- he invoked teleportation, vanishing in a flare of dull blue light. That same light flared atop the hidden stairway, depositing Kain in a tangle of limbs and charcoal. Kain rolled to his feet, checked to be certain the stairway was empty of Razielim. Then, trailing a string of dirty bootprints, followed at a trot the Razielim's trail of carnage.

The last hundred or so vampires were making their way down the hall and into the passageway before Raziel spotted the rather-blackened form of Kain at the top of the stairs. With no small amount of relief, he Whispered, _That was a most ... admirable distraction, Kain. I shall never doubt your capacity for mayhem again._

He waited until Kain had joined him and the hallway was once again clear, then set talons into the outer door and hauled it closed. Against all the odds, it seemed they had succeeded--though a small superstitious part of him did not wish to say so out loud, for fear of invoking fickle Fortuna.

Kain offered up a brief, fierce baring of teeth in what might have been a smile. _That... 'Turel' may be upon our heels soon enough,_ Kain qualified, lending his weight to close the heavy door. _But I think us ten minutes or more ahead of him -- an hour if he attempts to assemble a fighting force -- and your Razielim are swift indeed._ Kain laid a hand lightly on the lever that disarmed the flame trap as Raziel retreated through the inner door and shut it, then moved well away from the area of corridor which would trigger the trap. Kain reset it, then snapped the lever off with a heave, so that it could not be disarmed. He then misted through the door, and the thick fog reformed beside Raziel. "Shall we depart?" Kain asked, the corner of his mouth turning up as he turned to follow the Razielim.

Raziel returned the smile with a dark, satisfied one of his own as Kain rejoined him. "Yes, I believe we have all overstayed our welcome. By all means, let us leave before Turel comes sniffing about." Turning, he headed into the passageway, listening to the tromp of feet ahead. A lost army--*his* lost army--now revived. All because of Kain.

Much as he hated to admit it, he had cause to be thankful for Kain's omniscience. Even if *this* Kain still did not understand fully the consequences of his actions ...


End file.
